


A Spirit's Touch

by ruthmakesstuff (orphan_account)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ruthmakesstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke visits Meredith in her office, with terrible consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spirit's Touch

“Hawke, a word, if you would?” Meredith said, after he intervened in the public argument between the Knight Commander and First Enchanter Orsino.

“Here?” Hawke asked, raising an eyebrow. He wondered if the woman had suddenly developed a taste for public confrontations.

“No, no,” Meredith said. “You know where my office is, in the gallows?” She said this with a smile that almost, but not quite, reached her eyes. It was… unsettling.

“I’m sure I can find my way there,” Hawke said, and they went their separate ways.

* * *

Meredith’s office stood directly opposite Orsino’s. He had to wonder if they used this arrangement to get at each other – door slams, loud talking in the corridors, things to just wind each other up. The thought amused him, and he wasn’t paying attention when he opened Meredith’s office door and stepped directly into a glyph of paralysis.

“Meredith, what are you doing?” he asked, panic rising in his chest. Her smile this time was genuine and sincere, and even more unsettling than the facsimile of one she’d displayed earlier.

She said nothing, but went to her desk and pulled a rod out from inside a drawer. Even though it was tiny, and Hawke was some distance away, he made out the distinctive blue-white lyrium sunburst on the end.

“You never went through your Harrowing, Hawke. You’re a danger to the good people of Kirkwall.”

“Bullshit,” Hawke spat, struggling against his bonds to no avail.

The effort must have shown on his face because Meredith laughed. “Effective, isn’t it? I had one of the apprentices cast it for me. They don’t question why. No, you’re right – this has nothing to do with your Harrowing. You need to be made an example of. It’s not right, you swanning around Hightown with that staff on your back, acting as if you owned the place.” 

“You sick, twisted-” Hawke started.

“Oh, hush. I don’t want to draw this out any more than you do. Let us put an end to the formalities, shall we?”

With that, she walked over to Hawke, lyrium rod in hand, and pressed it to his forehead.

His blood was on fire, spreading heat and pain through his body, concentrated at the brand on his forehead. He let out an agonised howl as his muscles gave way to the pain, leaving him supported only by the magic of the glyph. Mana flooded through him – and out of him. He felt only terror, pain, and weakness.

The world went black.

When he came to, he was on his hands and knees on the hard, unforgiving floor of Meredith’s office. Something had changes, as if he’d lost a sense – like the world had lost colour, or scent, or sound. He was unable to place wh he had lost, but it had been integral to him.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked at his hands. They were bleeding, but the pain was dull, as if experienced through a fog. He looked up, and saw Meredith standing above him.

“How do you feel?” she asked, with poorly disguised glee. Hawke didn’t understand – she was obviously emotional, but it seemed improper. Irrelevant. Unnecessary.

“My hands are bleeding – I need to go to the clinic,” he stated.

“Of course,” Meredith said. “You may leave, now.”

Hawke nodded curtly and left.

* * *

Anders saw the door to the clinic open, and was pleased to see Hawke’s silhouette in the doorway.

“Hello, Anders. My hands are bleeding. Would you please heal them?” Hawke said, in a monotone.

“Hawke,” Anders frowned, concerned. He didn’t sound right. “What’s wrong?”

“My hands are bleeding,” Hawke repeated.

Anders walked up to Hawke and cupped his face in his hands. This would usually elicit a smile, or a kiss. Today, nothing. He moved one hand, tracing his jawline and up his temple to the untidy fringe Hawke kept. He moved it to one side, and then stepped back in horror. He had the sunburst brand.

“No,” he whispered, barely audible. “Meredith?”

“Meredith,” Hawke confirmed. “My hands are bleeding, Anders.”

Anders took Hawke’s hands in his, his eyes brimming with tears that he tried to hold back. If he didn’t accept it, didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t true. A brief wave of healing magic, and the grazes were gone, replaced with smooth skin. Anders took one hand and pressed it to his lips.

“Do you feel anything?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Touch? Yes,” Hawke replied.

“But not…?” Anders asked.

“No,” Hawke replied, simply.

A noise rose in Anders’s throat before he was able to suppress it, like a wounded animal. The tears that were on the verge of falling before spilled freely, his body wracked with huge sobs that tore his chest and throat apart.

How _could_ she? Robbing Hawke of everything that made him _him_ – his awful sense of humour, his compassion, his ability to love? Even his identity as a mage had been important to him.

It was selfish, but the thought came, unbidden: how could Meredith do this to him? First Karl, now Hawke? Would he never be allowed to love? He would never know Hawke’s touch again, hear him say “I love you”, see any tenderness in his face. He would never be able to be vulnerable to Hawke again – and Hawke would never be vulnerable to him, either. He had no emotions, now, even if Anders had enough for the two of them.

Anders knew what he had to do – but he was going to say goodbye, first. It meant nothing to Hawke, but he pulled him into an embrace, kissing the sunburst brand on his forehead before resting his forehead on Hawke’s.

A flash of anger struck Anders, and he recognised it as not entirely coming from him alone.

“ _This is an injustice._ ”

“Justice?” Hawke asked, backing off and sounding confused. “Maker, what have you done? It’s – I’m back.”

Anders immediately resurfaced at the sound of Hawke’s voice. No. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to have him back, knowing he’d be taken away again. It happened to Karl, and it would happen to him. Still, he had to make the most of it while he still had Hawke.

“Love, can you...?” Anders asked.

“Yes,” Hawke said, visibly still reeling. He kissed Anders, cautiously, then a second time with more confidence.

They broke apart. “Love, do you want me to…?” Anders asked, unable to form the words.

“When it fades,” Hawke said, nodding.

Anders wrapped him in his arms again, relishing the reassuring firmness of Hawke’s hold on him, too. His heart pounded, waiting for his grip to relax, for him to step away.

“I love you, so much,” Anders said, tears still falling down his face.

“I love you, too,” Hawke replied, nuzzling his neck.

After a few moments, Hawke said, as if to himself, “It’s not fading.”

Anders leaned back, to look Hawke in the eye. His fringe was still brushed aside – and the sunburst wasn’t there anymore. He ran his thumb over where the brand had been – nothing.

“Maker,” he breathed. “The brand, it’s gone.”


End file.
